


Who R U

by sayasamax3



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Car Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayasamax3/pseuds/sayasamax3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alibaba meets a handsome stranger twice: in the evening at his strip club, and in the morning at his coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FYI for anyone who ever intends to go to a strip club ever, do not touch the dancers. Fiction is one thing but irl is another thing entirely.

There was a time when Alibaba might have felt embarrassed about walking onto a stage like this. 

Well, scratch that. There was  _definitely_ a time when he’d been embarrassed to walk onto a stage like this. 

But his ankles no longer twinge when he pounds down the catwalk in five-inch heels, to the circular platform with the pole going down its center, which puts him right in the middle of leering, cheering men all ready to shower him with cash. 

His ears don’t grow hot with embarrassment when a patron smacks his ass, barely covered in skin-tight hot pants that are cut just a bit higher on the sides so that his legs look miles long. 

The thigh high stockings, which he used to have such a problem keeping in place through a show, no longer roll down (and thank goodness for the pitying co-workers who introduced him to the wonders of body adhesive).

So when he grabs the lapels of his tux-style jacket and strikes a pose in front of the pole, Alibaba doesn’t feel embarrassed at all.   Instead, he just takes hold of the bar with one hand, grabs the bill of his cap with the other, and throws the hat out into the crowd. 

Then the show  _really_ begins.  Alibaba holds onto the pole with both hands as the song he’s gotten positively  _sick_ of hearing starts.  He jumps, slinging his curved body down and around the pole, landing lightly on his knees, legs spread wide at the front of the stage.  He lets go of the pole then, throwing his arms forward into a bow, slowly sliding his fingers over the stage’s surface, then up his front until again his fingers curl over the front of his jacket, throwing the front open to expose his toned stomach and the flimsy sheer top that makes a mockery of modesty. 

Bills are already fluttering down on to the stage and  _that_ gives Alibaba a rush like nothing else does.  So he gets back on his knees, then to his feet, and makes his way back to the pole.  He holds his body parallel to the bar for a moment, then lets an undulating wave move through him before swinging his legs forward to wrap around the pole.  Slowly, careful to make sure his thighs have a tight enough grip, he lets go and leans back, farther and farther until his ankles have to lock around the pole too and his fingers are almost skimming the ground. 

It is as he hangs upside down, letting the loosely-fitted jacket slide down his arms to the floor, that Alibaba sees him.  Well, he doesn’t  _really_ see him, and when he does see the man Alibaba has no idea that he’ll be important.  At that moment, all he sees is a silhouette that has the potential to belong to a very attractive man.  It’s not the silhouette of a regular, that’s for sure; Alibaba knows all of those, and besides the line of his shoulders is too tense to belong to someone who feels comfortable in a strip club. 

Ah, but he doesn’t have time to think about these things.  Alibaba touches his palms down to the stage, getting steady on his hands before bringing one leg then the other away from the pole. 

Now, normally that would be a move he lands just fine.  But tonight is not a normal night, because Alibaba’s stiletto heel lands on a stray dollar bill.  Not just any stray dollar bill either, but one that _slips._    Panic flies through him as the premonition of  _falling_ comes to him.  He feels off-balance and isn’t sure if there’s a way to save this fall, to make it seem like a part of the act, to not get in a lot of trouble for messing up a routine. 

It’s lucky then, that at just that moment the club’s power shorts.  The music stops, the crowd frenzies, but most importantly all of the lights die and so no one sees it when Alibaba tumbles off the stage and right into someone’s lap.  It’s a nice lap too; the stranger’s legs feel taut and muscular under wool trousers, as do the arms that reflexively reach out to wrap around him, stopping Alibaba from falling to the floor. 

“Are you alright?” The stranger’s voice breaths into his ear.  The sound, a sort of smoky baritone with just the slightest tremor to it, sends shivers down Alibaba’s spine. 

“Ye-yeah,” Alibaba replies, his own voice shaky from the shock of adrenaline he got from the fall.  Overly-excited and still needing to feel anchored after his fall, Alibaba drapes one arm over the stranger’s shoulders, his other resting on the man’s chest. 

The motion brings Alibaba close enough to catch the scent of the other man’s cologne.  He’s not sure what it is, but there’s something dark to it, lightly spiced and very much  _expensive._ Whoever this guy is, he probably doesn’t need to be in a strip club to get his jollies, that’s for sure.  The fact that such a man’s hand is absently stroking the exposed flesh between the band of his stocking and the hem of his shorts makes Alibaba feel thrilled and a bit dirty at the same time.  He’s not a whore, not on the look-out for a sugar daddy, but if this man looks anything like he feels Alibaba might have to make an exception and give this particular customer a chance.

The fingers that caress his legs, daring to move further and further up his thighs with every second that Alibaba continues to sit there, squirming atop his half-hard cock, are gentle but firm and lightly callused.  So it’s inevitable that when the strange man’s hand finally,  _finally_ grabs his ass, Alibaba lets out a strangled whimper against the side of the man’s neck.  And then, because he’s there, Alibaba places an open-mouthed kiss just above the other’s fluttering pulse, flicking his tongue out to taste the man’s skin.  

Both hands are on his hips then, shifting him in the near absolute darkness of the club until Alibaba straddles his waist, feeling the bulge of the other’s erection against his own.  The ruckus of confused, angry patrons doesn’t touch them, nothing does except the hands petting Alibaba’s sides, and his own hands which curl at the base of the other’s neck, finding a thick ponytail which he quickly pulls loose so that he can curl his fingers into the long, luxurious strands. 

Their noses bump, and distantly Alibaba thinks he hears something about a technical difficulty, but he ignores it in favor of groaning against the stranger’s mouth as he grinds down on the hard line of the other’s cock.  Twin shudders run through them both at that, especially with the way his partner’s grip tightens around his hips, holding him down so that the other can thrust up, rutting against him. 

“Fuh— _fuck,_ ” Alibaba murmurs against the stranger’s lips.  “You can’t just, just  _do_  this t’ me,” he murmurs, his voice breathless and high. 

But that seems to be the wrong thing to say because the hands leave him suddenly and the man replies, his voice shaking with a mix of nerves and arousal, “I—I apologize, I’ve been untoward—“

_‘Ah, I’ve been misunderstood,’_ Alibaba thinks as he shuts the stranger up by pulling him into a deep kiss that leaves them both panting. 

“I  _mean,”_  Alibaba corrects once he has the breath to, “Y’ can’t just get me all bothered like this and then not, not take  _responsibility_ for it.”

“Oh,” The man responds, then seems to realize just what Alibaba means because he says , “ _Oh,_ ” again, and his hands fly back to Alibaba, not only touching him but lifting him, and suddenly they’re both on their feet making their way toward the exit. 

“Uh, wha,” Alibaba stammers, a bit disoriented by the sudden transition from sitting and touching to standing and still touching. 

The other man pulls Alibaba in tight, so that their bodies are pressed together from chest to knee.  He thinks that, without the heels, the stranger might be a bit taller than he is, but like this Alibaba’s got him beat by maybe an inch or so. 

“I won’t take you in this club,” the man whispers into his ear, his voice positively sinful and dripping with implications. “But if you’d like, I will take you home and we can continue there.”

Alibaba would like to think he’s not so dumb as to really follow a stranger out of a strip club and to his home, but the fact of the matter is that hot pants and erections really do  _not_ go together and the sooner he’s out of his shorts and coming the better.

The new moon makes it nearly impossible to see more than the curve of the stranger’s jawline as he totters through the dark parking lot, led by the hand to an impressive and blessedly spacious car. 

“Gimme a name,” Alibaba says when he gets pulled through the passenger-side door and onto the stranger’s lap again.  What weak light there is cuts in a sharp line across the lower left side of his face, revealing a beauty mark and the soft curve of full lips. 

“My name?” The other replies, a bit apprehensive. 

“ _A_ name,” Alibaba corrects, then leans in to whisper, his face burning as shameless words leave him in a breathy rush, his lips brushing the shell of the other man’s ear, “Something t’ shout when I come.”

The stranger gulps audibly at that, before saying in one trembling breath, “R-Ryuu is fine.”

“Ryuu then,” Alibaba repeats, liking how it feels to say that name, even if it’s probably fake.  “Call me Alie, if you’d like.  Though anything’s good.”

The two of them spend a frantic moment trying to decide whether they want to grab each other or find the lever to push the seat back.  In the end they give up on both endeavors and make a (not at all sexy) move to the back seat, which is much more suited to the way they fumble at each other’s clothes, unsteady fingers tripping over buttons, tugging uselessly at ties and too-tight shorts.

“For a stripper, you’re clothes are hard to get off,” Ryuu mutters, sounding frustrated with how Alibaba’s shorts seem to be fused to his hips, refusing to be moved. 

“Well the shorts aren’t  _supposed_ to come off easy,” Alibaba says, reaching back to try and unzip his shorts, which is about the only way they’re leaving his body.

The minute the material loosens on his hips Ryuu takes advantage of it, his hands sliding down the curve of Alibaba’s ass, pushing the shorts down and off so they tangled around his knees.  “Keep the stockings, please.”

Alibaba nods, or tries to at any rate, but his mouth seems to be magnetically attracted to Ryuu’s because he can’t stop kissing him long enough to reply properly.  It’s hard to decide where to touch first; does he want to peel away the layers of his companion’s rumpled suit, to touch the smooth muscles that he suspects lie beneath, feel them twitch under his fingers?  Or should he cut to the chase and just go for the man’s cock? 

In the end, Alibaba decides on none of the above.  Instead, his hands come up to frame Ryuu’s face, feeling the contours that he can’t see.  Like he thought, the man has a delicately curved jaw and fine cheek bones.  There’s something different in the textures of the two sides of his face, some sort of scarring on the left side maybe.  It makes Alibaba a little nervous, because he doesn’t think he’d like a stranger pawing at his scars much, so he subtly pulls his hand away, dragging it down, down the column of Ryuu’s neck to his shirt collar.  The buttons don’t open as easily as he wishes they would, it’s almost embarrassing how long he fumbles with them.  God, Ryuu probably thinks he’s got enough experience to never have these problems, but honestly he doesn’t have random trysts with customers (or anyone for that matter) very often. 

This is just, just an  _exception._   The man had  _caught_ him, when he’d fallen totally by chance.  He felt good, sounded good, and in the absolute darkness it was easy to image he looked good too. Certainly it had to be fate that they were here now, blundering in the dark, trying to get at least one of them sufficiently undressed for sex.

“C-condom?” Alibaba thinks to ask when he realizes that yeah, this is probably going to end with a dick buried in his ass.  “Please,  _please_ say you’ve got at least one.”

“Right, right,” Ryuu mumbles absently, rummaging in his pants’ pocket for his wallet, and thankfully finding a condom there. 

With that sorted, the two quickly go back to pawing at each other.  Or well, Alibaba goes back to fidgeting with Ryuu’s pants until finally they open and he can shove the fabric down his hips.  Now, Alibaba can’t  _see_  the man’s cock, but it feels thick and heavy in his hand when he swipes the precome off the head and uses it to make his grip just that much slicker.  The deep groan that leaves Ryuu then—sounding oddly muffled, maybe he’s covering his mouth?—sends shivers down Alibaba’s spine.  Suddenly he wishes he were really as experienced as he might seem, so he could get that sound out of the other man again and again.  Shamefully, he thinks he could get off on the sound alone.

But there’s no need to test that theory, as Alibaba can rut down against the other’s strong thigh just as well, taking the edge off of being so damn  _hard_ for what feels like forever.  Even that feels a little too good, and despite himself tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes from how overwhelming just that much feels. 

Alibaba learns why Ryuu’s voice had been muffled when saliva-slick fingers hastily work their way into his ass, two pushing into him at once and sending a jolt of pleasure-pain up his spine.  Ryuu had been sucking on his own fingers, and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thought, Alibaba only wishes he had been able to see it, only wishes he could see the face of the man working those fingers in and out of his ass so well that every move seems to set him on fire all over again. 

“Shit, yo-you’re really tight,” Ryuu mumbles, sounding surprised but by no means displeased. 

“’M a stripper, not a prostitute,” Alibaba mutters back, and hopes that says everything he needs it to. 

“Right,” Ryuu says, before slowly pushing his fingers in to the last knuckle, making Alibaba writhe around them.  “Think you’re ready to move on?”

Alibaba shivers hard, and it’s only through an act of extreme mental control that he doesn’t come hard right then and there. 

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice little more than a helpless mewl. 

“Put it on then,” Ryuu says, and holds out the condom packet.  Alibaba’s not sure, but he thinks Ryuu’s hands might be shaking as badly as his are, which makes him feel a bit better about how difficult he finds it to get the damn wrapper off.  Sliding the condom down the shaft of Ryuu’s cock is a bit easier, especially when the motion gets another of those delicious groans out of the man. 

Yet, for all that he whines when Ryuu’s fingers leave him like he can’t stand to be empty, the first thrust of that cock inside of him, sinking in inch by inch, is just too much.  He isn’t prepared for this, isn’t ready to be split open and stuffed full, wonders if it’s even possible to be prepared for it and if he’d want to be anyway. 

“R-Ryuu,” he pants against the other man’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the lean muscles of Ryuu’s biceps.  His whole body jolts and his breath catches when Ryuu pulls nearly all the way out, only to slam back into him, starting up a brutal pace that leaves Alibaba a helpless, breathless mess, pressing sloppy kisses to the other’s face and neck. 

“Ah—Alie,” Ryuu says, his hands leaving Alibaba’s hips for a moment so as to cup his face, gently putting some distance between them.  Alibaba doesn’t understand at first, not until one lightly callused thumb caresses his cheek, just a little under his eye, and Alibaba realizes with growing embarrassment that he’s been crying.

“Am I hurting you?” Ryuu asks, and actually sounds genuinely concerned. 

“Nooo,” Alibaba whines, his hips moving of their own accord when Ryuu’s stop.  “S’good, real good, please,  _please_.”

“Oh-okay,” Ryuu says, before picking up his pace again.  Damn, but Alibaba can feel his hips bruising at the brutal usage and he can’t say he cares at all.  He’s so close, right on the edge and it feels like he could teeter there forever.  But then Ryuu leans forward a little, just enough so that he can lick a hot stripe up Alibaba’s cheek with the tip of his tongue, catching stray tears like they’re the world’s finest wine.  Alibaba’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to find that arousing, but he does, and  _that_ is the last straw,  _that_ is what sets his body to trembling, makes him cry out the other’s name in a broken keen as he forces his hips all the way down on Ryuu’s cock and comes hard.  It only takes a little while longer before he feels Ryuu still, then shutter and ride out his orgasm in a wave of short but deep thrusts that leave Alibaba’s overly-sensitive body shivering anew.

“Much classier than a strip club,” Alibaba says, long minutes later when the two of them have caught their breath.

“More private.  Kind of,” Ryuu replies halfheartedly. 

Alibaba decides to risk touching the other’s face again, feeling the different textures, the little rise where that beauty mark lies and not caring about it a bit, other than to imagine that it must be a very attractive face. 

It’s also a very damp face.

“Wait—were  _you_ crying?” Alibaba asks, incredulous.

“Sh-shut up!” Ryuu snaps back, only there’s not enough energy behind it to really count as a _snap._

“Oh god, we’re lame.  Really lame,” Alibaba says, laughing into the crook of his shoulder.  Wow, but he can’t remember there ever being a time where both he  _and_ his partner ended up in tears. He kind of likes it.  “Hey, does that mean I was really good or really bad?”

“Good,” Ryuu replies, petting Alibaba’s back and ass, the touch overly-familiar but so oddly  _right._   “Very good.  Um, I could, ah, give you a ride home.  If you, you know, need it.”

Ah, and there goes the moment.  While Alibaba gets the sense that Ryuu is neither a crazed stalker nor a serial killer, he  _does_  get the sense from his expensive car, his expensive cologne, and his once-expensive, now ruined suit, that the man has money.  The idea of having some trust fund kid come to his apartment, small but neat though it is, then judging how he lives and where he lives is just too uncomfortable. 

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” Alibaba says.  “My car is on the other side of the lot.  But you can walk me to it if you want.”

Even as they walk through the parking lot, Alibaba’s heels held loosely in his hands as Ryuu keeps him walking in a steady line, Alibaba never quite sees the man’s face.  The darkness is just too impenetrable, even the streetlights are out and—oh, that might be what happened to the club, now that he thinks about it.  Maybe a power line went down? Not that it matters _why_ there’s no light, exactly, so much as he cares that in the pale light of the stars all he can see is Ryuu’s profile in sharp relief and it’s not enough. 

“Will you be alright?” Ryuu asks as Alibaba very, very gingerly gets into his car. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Alibaba says, waving off the question.  “Uh, thanks though.  That was, uh—“

“—Yeah, it was,” Ryuu finishes, and Alibaba’s glad that he doesn’t have to try and find a word for what exactly, they’d just done was. 

“Well, see ya around then,” Alibaba says, because he’s not sure what one does say after having sex with a faceless stranger in a strip club parking lot. It’s not exactly a hobby of his.   

One thing he’s sure of though, is that you’re probably not supposed to kiss your partner afterward.  But that’s what Ryuu does, and damn Alibaba can’t say he minds in the least.   Neither of them are the best kissers in the world, probably, but there’s just something about the way their mouths fit together that  _works._  

Then Ryuu pulls away and whispers back, “Yeah, see you around,” before disappearing into the darkness of the parking lot. 

Later, Alibaba will realize that he should’ve tried harder to get at least one good look at the stranger’s face.

Later, he will wish he’d asked for a phone number, or at least the man’s real name. 

Later, not knowing will drive him insane with thoughts of missed opportunities and lost chances.

But later is not now.  Now, all Alibaba does is readjust his seat, turn on his car, and drive home. 


	2. Chapter 2

All through the next week Hakuryuu is tormented by memories of his encounter with Alie.  He looks at his rearview mirror and expects to see Alie in his backseat, trying for sultry but just a little too wide-eyed and fumbling to pull it off.   Now and again his hands tingle as though they’re still running over soft thighs and the smooth arch of Alie’s back.  The click of heels down the street, the thrum of the bass when he plays the radio, the occasional head of bright gold hair when he walks down the street—all of it makes him think of that night, and he wishes he’d had the nerve to ask for a name or a number.  

_‘I can proposition a stranger, but not ask for a date.  I really am hopeless,’_ Hakuryuu mourns inwardly.  The morning sky is just breaking out into the colors of sunrise when he slides into a small booth by the street-front windows of a local coffee shop.  It’s new, opened maybe a month ago right around the corner from his apartment, but Hakuryuu’d never really thought to go to it until his cousin had asked to meet him there for a business rendezvous. 

Hakuryuu has just settled into his seat when a voice pulls him out of his thoughts.  A chipper, achingly familiar voice that’d he’d last heard bidding him an awkward farewell in a pitch-black parking lot. 

“Hello, I’m Alibaba and I’ll be your server for today.  This morning’s special brew is…”

It takes all the restraint he has to turn away from the window calmly, to keep his face neutral as he looks up and—yes, it’s Alie, or Alibaba he supposes, sans stage make-up and with significantly more clothing.  Hakuryuu tries not to dwell on how much  _softer_ the blond looks in his natural state; the sharp, sexual edge of his visage seems to have been almost entirely artifice, and without it he just looks …Well, normal.  Sort of adorable really. 

But that’s not what Hakuryuu needs to be thinking about, and his staring has lasted longer than Alibaba’s little welcome speech.  Round gold eyes blink down at him with a flicker of not-quite-recognition, but déjà vu.  Well, Hakuryuu supposes it had been quite dark that night.  Maybe Alibaba had never gotten a good look at his face? 

An odd beat of silence passes between them before Hakuryuu clears his throat and says, “I’ll just uh, have the house regular please.”

_Now_ recognition washes over the blonde, his eyes going wide as his mouth makes a little ‘o’.  But he quickly reigns in the reaction, shaking his head a little as though to convince himself that he’s mistaken, and seems to replace that momentary conviction with a wary uncertainty.  It’s likely for the best, Hakuryuu thinks.  This is definitely not the place to make a scene or discuss Alibaba’s other occupation.  Yet there’s a part of him that’s desperate to say, “Yes, it was me.  Can we  _please_ talk about this because I can’t stop thinking of you.”

Of course, he doesn’t.  He just lets Alibaba walk away to do his job (which is probably what he should have done that first night) and turns back to the window.  Besides, he rationalizes, even if Alibaba wasn’t currently working and they were in a place where they could talk about this, who says Alibaba would want to?  As far as Hakuryuu knows, that night might not have been anything special or the least bit unusual to Alibaba.  What right does he have to push his delusions onto another person? 

A little bell sounds a moment later, signaling the arrival of Hakuryuu’s cousin, Kouha.  Diminutive and baby-faced, Kouha doesn’t look at all like someone involved in the Ren’s, ah, family business.  Yet here he is, ready to discuss just that business with Hakuryuu over coffee.

“Hakuryuu!” Kouha chirps, waving in his direction.  “G’mornin—“

Just then a loud  _crash_ resounds through the café, and every head turns to look at the source of the disturbance.  Behind the work counter Alibaba stands with his back too-stiff, the color draining from his face before it lights up like a match a moment later.  On the ground at his feet lays the shattered remains of a coffee mug along with a pool of light brown liquid that would appear to be Hakuryuu’s coffee. 

_‘Looks like he figured it out,’_ Hakuryuu thinks, and wonders if it’s not too late to duck out and save them both the trouble of having to awkwardly exist in the same place.

“Well that was weird,” Kouha says as he slides into the booth across Hakuryuu.  “Anyway, we have things to talk about, so start talking.”

“Um, is this really the place to talk about it?” Hakuryuu asks, shooting a nervous but hopefully covert glance over to Alibaba. 

“Speak vaguely and I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Kouha waves off the concern.  “So, what’d you think of the talent?  Anyone worth scooping up?”

If there’s one thing Kouha doesn’t do, its mix words.  On most days Hakuryuu would say that’s one of his better traits, but today it just makes him uncomfortable.  “I—I think so.”

“You  _think_ so?” Kouha repeats, looking unimpressed.  “If it was a waste of time, say as much.  You  _were_ only chasing rumors after all, it wouldn’t be a surprise if they were false.”

“No!” Hakuryuu responds, a little more vehement than he meant to be.  Conscious of his volume, he continues in a quieter voice, “No.  Those rumors  _definitely_ check out.”

“That was really insistent for you.  What, you sleep with the talent or something?  Say you’d make ‘im a  _star_?” Kouha asks, his mouth a teasing grin.  But his expression quickly turns into a look of utter disbelief when Hakuryuu doesn’t respond with flustered denials, maintaining a radio silence instead. 

“Oh god,” Kouha breathes out, incredulous and almost scandalized.  “You  _did._ Hell Ryuu, I sent you because you’re the prude who doesn’t  _do_ that.  If I wanted someone to fuck the poor bastard, I’d have sent Judal, or gone myself!”

“I didn’t  _mean_ to,” Hakuryuu insists, his voice a high-pitched whisper.  “We just sort of, uh, fell into it.”

Kouha shakes his head, going for disappointed but somehow looking just a bit proud of Hakuryuu, which probably says a lot about both of them.  “Well, at least now I’m sure we’re related.”

“I really don’t think I’m on that level of perversion,” Hakuryuu says, expression deadpan. 

“I bet you’re worse.  Oh, here comes our coffee!  G’morning Alibaba!”

“G-good morning,” Alibaba replies, setting a black coffee in front of Kouha and the regular before Hakuryuu.  Their eyes meet as he does, gazes locking for just a second too long before they both look away in a flurry of nerves.  “Sorry for the wait.”

“’S no trouble,” Hakuryuu mumbles against the rim of his mug.  Kouha gives Hakuryuu a hard stare, but waits until Alibaba leaves to say anything. 

“What was that all about?”  Kouha asks.  “You hit on him earlier or something?  It’s not good to bother people at work you know.”

“N-no!”  Hakuryuu says, shaking his head furiously.  “Nothing like that!”

“Huh.  Bet you think he’s cute though.”

“Kouha,” Hakuryuu grinds out, “Business.  We’re here to talk  _business._ ”  Though in a way they still are, even if Kouha doesn’t realize it.

“Right, right,” Kouha replies, nodding and taking a sip of his coffee.  “Well, your judgment’s been impaired, so it looks like I’ll have to go check it out myself.”  Again Kouha grins as he adds, “Wanna come with?  Try for a round two?”

Hakuryuu feels tongue-tied.  The answer is inevitably  _yes,_ but at the same time he doesn’t want to come off like a stalker, and he doesn’t want Alibaba to get the impression that they’d slept together for work reasons.  Their little tryst had been  _something,_ certainly, but ‘work’ wasn’t it.

“I—I need to use the restroom,” he says in lieu of a reply, and escapes to the relative safety of a bathroom stall.  Damn, but he really needs a moment to just slow things down.  His mind has been spinning since the moment he’d laid eyes on Alibaba.  Knowing that not only is he the subject of their business dealings, but apparently an acquaintance of Kouha’s to boot is just too much, especially since Kouha doesn’t seem to know about Alibaba’s second job.  Would it be seen as an invasion of his private life if Hakuryuu let Kouha go scope out his club? 

Yet, Hakuryuu very selfishly wants for Kouha to go, to realize that Alibaba  _is_ as good on the stage as Hakuryuu thinks he is, to bring him into  _their_ business so that Hakuryuu can see him every day, talk and laugh and maybe develop a  _relationship_ —

_‘I’m getting ahead of myself,’_ Hakuryuu says, shaking his head.   _‘I don’t know anything about him.  We could get along really badly, for all I know.’_

Yet the words ring false in his head and are drown out by something visceral in him that’s sure it would be worth the risk.  That feeling calms him down, but it’s also what convinces him that he shouldn’t let Kouha go to that club.  It wouldn’t be right to let someone just walk into Alibaba’s private life if he had the power to stop it. 

“Ugh, so stressful,” Hakuryuu murmurs, letting himself out of the stall.  But just as he does, someone else walks into the bathroom and—

Of course.

It’s Alibaba. 

“Oh, uh, excuse me,” Alibaba says, even as he closes the door and leans back against it for good measure.

Distantly, Hakuryuu wonders if Alibaba followed him in here, or if this is just another accident. 

_‘We_ do  _seem to be very accident-prone.’_

“I just—I know this is awkward, but,” Alibaba begins, his cheeks red and his eyes glued to the floor.  “Are you, that is, there was someone and—“

“—Yes,” Hakuryuu cuts in, saving Alibaba the trouble of explaining.  “I didn’t uh, I didn’t know you worked here, it’s just Kouha asked to meet here and—“

“It’s okay,” Alibaba replies, a small smile working its way onto his face and he dares to look up.  “I was just surprised, I guess.  And uh, not really sure it was you?  I didn’t really get a good look at your face that night.”

“I thought that might have been the case,” Hakuryuu responds, trying not to sound too relieved that Alibaba apparently doesn’t find him totally creepy.    

There’s an awkward beat of silence where neither of them really knows what to say next, and so they just stare at each other and wonder what it is, exactly, that they’re doing here.

“I-I’m sorry, you’re here with a friend and I’m probably wasting your time—“ Alibaba stammers out, turning toward the door to leave when nerves get the best of him.

“Wait!” Hakuryuu calls out, crossing the space between them quickly and grabbing Alibaba.  Immediately afterward he loosens his grip so that his hand simply rests on the curve of the other man’s shoulder, feeling the heat of Alibaba’s skin through the thin cotton of his tee-shirt.    

Slowly Alibaba turns back to face him.  Oh that’s bad, it’s hard to concentrate when Alibaba’s face is so close to his own, close enough to feel each breath against his skin.  Hakuryuu’s mouth goes dry and he wonders,  _hopes_ , that he’s not the only one feeling so completely off-kilter.  If nothing else, some dim corner of Hakuryuu’s mind suggests, if nothing else they have some  _intense_ chemistry. 

“Uh, yeah?” Alibaba asks, his voice underscored by the smallest of tremors.

“You’re, you’re not wasting my time,” Hakuryuu says.  “Honestly I’ve wanted to see you again.  I just,  I didn’t want to seem like a stalker or like I was only after you for sex or—I mean you’re very attractive but more than that—ah, um,” The more he stammers, the more amused Alibaba looks, which Hakuryuu supposes might be a good sign so he takes a deep, steadying breath and says, “Would you like to go out sometime?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Alibaba responds, a nervous, excited smile growing on his face.  “I get off at four, if that’s good for you?  We could decide on what to do then?”

“Four, yeah, sounds great,” Hakuryuu replies, his words unexpectedly low and breathy.  An inexorable pull brings them closer together, but neither of them moves to pull away even when the tips of their noses bump and they can feel each other’s’ breath on their lips.  “I’ll meet you here?”

“Yeah.” 

Hakuryuu can feel the motion of Alibaba’s lips against his own.  

“Okay.”

Their lips meet and heat bursts between them, spreading quicker than wildfire.  They have hands on each other in seconds, pulling at clothes to bring them closer,  _closer,_ and it feels like the hardest thing Hakuryuu’s ever done to pull away from that heat.

“Uh—I—sorry,” Hakuryuu mumbles, checking to make sure his clothes are all still where they need to be so that he can avoid looking Alibaba in the eye.  For goodness’ sake, he’d just attacked the man at work,  _again._   Maybe Kouha’s right, maybe he really is as perverted as the rest of the family.

“No, no, my bad,” Alibaba replies with a nervous laugh.  “Um, yeah.  See you at four then?”

“Four, yes.”

Alibaba turns again, opening the door again.  They exchange flustered smiles one last time before Alibaba finally leaves and this time, Hakuryuu lets him.

—-

Four o’clock could not have come any slower.  Hakruyuu doesn’t have an afternoon shift to occupy his time, and he’s too full of anticipation to sleep through the day.  So instead he whittles away the hours watching junk television and nervously jotting down date ideas, then promptly tossing them in the garbage.  He spends far longer in the shower than usual, takes longer getting dressed than usual, and spends so much time wondering what the  _hell_ he’s supposed to do with his hair that he very nearly calls his sister to ask for help.  But he refrains, and decides that Alibaba probably won’t judge him too harshly for deciding on a low ponytail. 

His nerves only get worse when he reaches the coffee shop just a few minutes before four.  Should he wait inside?  At the door?  Oh God, they haven’t even met  _up_ yet and he’s already making a mess of things, so useless—

“Hey, good to see you.  Did you wait long?”

The words send a jolt of lightening through Hakuryuu, and he scrambles to collect himself before looking up to meet Alibaba’s eyes, muttering a small, “Not at all.”

Hakuryuu’s almost sure that people aren’t allowed to look so good in casual clothes.  Well, okay, his opinion is a bit biased, but really Alibaba does look very cute in his oversized teal tee-shirt and red scarf.  Of course, everything  _below_ the belt is another story.  Damn, but there are some people who really just shouldn’t be allowed to wear skinny jeans outside their homes, as a matter of public virtue.  Every shift of muscle shows as clearly through the denim, he might as well not even be wearing pants at all, and it takes a lot more willpower than it should not to dwell on thoughts of Alibaba’s bare thighs.

“Sorry,” Alibaba says, pulling Hakuryuu’s attention back up to his face.  “I only had what I came to work wearing, so…”

“No, no, it’s fine!”  Hakuryuu assures, though really it’s a bit  _too_  fine.  “Um, did you think of anything you wanted to do?”

Alibaba’s face colors as if to say he’d certainly thought of  _something,_  just nothing he was willing to share.  “Not really.  You?”

“Not really.”  Oh, this is going swimmingly already.   _‘Damn, why I am so useless when it comes to these things?’_

“Well, my car’s parked out back.  We could just drive down main street and stop to get an early dinner if we see a place we like,” Alibaba suggests, his fingers fiddling with the ends of his scarf, the action both endearing and reassuring to see. 

“That sounds great,” Hakuryuu says, breathing out a sigh of relief.  Dinner, dinner is a good place to start.  “There’s a nice little Italian place just up the road, if you’re interested.”

“Oh I know that place!” Alibaba replies, beckoning Hakuryuu to follow him to his car.  They spend the walk discussing their favorite dishes and the waiters they’ve met there, and by the time they reach Alibaba’s car they don’t feeling quite so nervous anymore.  The ride to their restaurant of choice is short but filled with chatter, underscored by thoughts of  _thank goodness we have things in common besides sex._

“So, uh, you already know what I do for a living,” Alibaba says once they’ve been seated and their orders taken.  “What about yourself?”

The question makes Hakuryuu nervous, and he feels the need to wipe his damp palms against his pants.  “Entertainment industry,” he mumbles weakly, and hopes Alibaba doesn’t ask him to elaborate. 

“Well we have that in common,” Alibaba says with a joking grin, and Hakuryuu can’t help but think, ‘ _You don’t know the half of it.’_  He will, Hakuryuu tells himself, if this thing of theirs goes beyond one date, if they’re really as compatible as they seem, then he’ll definitely tell Alibaba all about it.  But right now, it would just seem like a lie, or worse.

Thankfully, Alibaba doesn’t ask further.  But what he does ask makes it very clear that they aren’t going to beat around the bush concerning his career choices. 

“Okay, I’ve been joking about this but I need know something,” he says, looking nervous but determined.  “I do actually  _like_ my job.  Both of them, and I’m not planning to quit either any time soon.  Is that going to be a problem?”

Hakuryuu knows himself better than to answer with an immediate ‘no.’  Besides, he wants to be honest and it’s clear that’s what Alibaba wants from him too.   So He takes a moment to think, to really be sure that it wouldn’t bother him before saying, “No, I don’t think it will.  It doesn’t matter now, and I want to keep it that way.”

The smile that spreads across Alibaba’s face, hopeful and trusting and just a little nervous to be either of those things, sends another wave of relief down his spine just as butterflies erupt in his stomach.  Their conversation moves on, their meals arrive, and by the end of their date Hakuryuu’s seen Alibaba smile much more widely, and laugh so hard tears well up in his eyes, but nothing stays so clear in his mind as that first smile.


	3. Chapter 3

The thing is, while Alibaba’s not ashamed of his occupation, he is well aware of why it’s not necessarily a good idea to broadcast the fact that he’s an exotic dancer.  Among other things, he worries about the possibility of being harassed during his down-time or while he’s working elsewhere.  This is in fact the reason why he’d quit his last job and began working at the café where he’d met Kouha, and why seeing said boy in his strip club sends a cold chill down his spine. 

“Are you even old enough to be here?” Alibaba asks in low hiss, stopping in front of the private table Kouha’s occupied not too far from the center stage.  In one motion smooth enough to indicate that Kouha has to do this  _a lot,_ he flips his wallet open and shows Alibaba his driver’s license.  Alibaba inspects the I.D., gapes when he sees they’re the same age, then promptly resumes being uncomfortable with the situation for purely self-centered, non-legal reasons.

“It’s real and everything,” Kouha assures, which is not at all reassuring. “But that’s beside the point.  Take me to the champagne room, or whatever this place’s got; I wanna talk in private.”

“That’s not exactly cheap—“ Alibaba begins, but is cut off when a truly obscene amount of cash is pushed into his hands and Kouha chirps, “Keep the change.”

So, because it’s his job and he’s pretty sure Kouha just single-handedly paid his rent for a month, Alibaba leads them to the champagne room.  Kouha takes his time settling in and ordering a bottle of the best champagne the club carries, pouring himself a glass and sipping at it as though he can’t quite decide if it’s up to his standards.  Alibaba tries not to fidget but it’s hard, especially when he has no idea what exactly Kouha  _wants_ from him.  It’s not a private dance, that’s for sure. 

(Well, sort of sure.)

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know you worked here,” Kouha says, then mutters quietly enough that Alibaba nearly doesn’t catch it, “Probably shoulda guessed though.”

Alibaba contemplates asking what Kouha meant by that, but the decision is taken out of his hands when Kouha changes the subject, saying, “I’ve got a business proposal for you.”

It takes effort not to look as wary as that question makes him feel.  Alibaba’s had plenty of _business proposals_ , and has found that it’s a rare day when any of them involve the sort of business he wants to be involved in.  Kouha, to the best of his knowledge, is not likely to ask him for anything illegal or particularly degrading, but then people only reveal so much of their private lives to their waiters. 

(Incidentally, they tend to reveal all to strippers.)

“If it’s anywhere close to illegal,” Alibaba mutters, mindful of the other groups in the room, “Then no.”

“Cruel,” Kouha says with a wry grin, “Did you always think I was a criminal, or is that recent?”

“Recent,” Alibaba answers immediately.  “I can’t remember the last time someone offered me a legitimate ‘business’ deal here.”

Kouha shrugs and says, “Fair enough.  Really though, I work for the Kou House, might’ve heard of it?”

Alibaba’s jaw drops.  Of  _course_  he’s heard of the Kou House, everyone has, it’s a big name in the world of evening entertainment.  He’s a little vague on what exactly goes on inside, there’s some sort of performance but Alibaba gets the sense that it’s of a different caliber than his own—similar in spirit, but a bit more refined in form.     

“Thought as much,” Kouha says, taking Alibaba’s reaction as answer enough.  “Anyway I’m here ‘cause we heard a rumor that a great talent was bein’ wasted on a local dive.   You’re the talent, if you didn’t guess yet.”

“Uh.” What exactly is he supposed to say to that?  “Thank you?  I um, I really don’t think I’m at that level though—“

“You’ve got a lot of dance experience, don’t you?” Kouha interrupts, his expression all business now.  “It shows.”

“My mother was a dance instructor,” Alibaba replies, his words coming out slow and cautious.  “So it’s something I’ve done forever, but that’s not exactly unique in this field.”

“I know,” Kouha says, waving the comment off, “Doesn’t change the fact that you stand out.  The point here is that we’d really like you to dump this joint and work for us.  You’ll be paid a salary, there’s no fee for stage rental, plus we’ve got better clientele  _and_  a better interior decorator.”

“Tacky décor isn’t a crime,” Alibaba says, strangely defensive.  He supposes he’s been with this club long enough to feel just a tad endeared to it, even if it  _could_  use some refurbishing.

“Uh-huh,” Kouha mutters as he once again takes out his wallet and a pen.  This time, he pulls out what looks like a business card and scribbles something on the back before handing it over to Alibaba saying, “Look, I get that this would be a big change for you, and hey maybe you just like this place too much to leave, that’s fine.  But give us a visit before you write us off, okay?”

“… Alright,” Alibaba replies after a moment’s hesitation, accepting the card.  The back doesn’t say much, just “Table 0” with Kouha’s signature scrawled underneath it.  “Does it matter when?”

The way Kouha’s lips curve deviously says that he had an answer in mind from the very beginning.  

“Friday,” he says through his grin, “I think you’ll really like the show on Friday.”

***

It’s with a frustrated tug at the knot of his tie that Alibaba decides formal wear is the reason he’s a stripper.  Kouha had told him to dress semi-formally so here he is, in the only suit he owns, feeling just a bit like a spy in enemy territory. 

The Kou House is a world apart from Alibaba’s club.  Everything from the sleek interior, to the patrons seated at tables set with fresh finger foods is richer, cleaner, more tasteful than his club.  The high ceilings, the second-story balcony that wraps around the interior, the grand scale of the stage—Alibaba thinks this place could pass for a theater much more easily than it could a club.

“I see you found your seat okay.”

Alibaba turns in his seat to face Kouha who, even dressed to impress, sort of looks like a boy on his way to junior prom—albeit, a boy with an excellent tailor. 

“Yeah, well, the escort certainly made it easier.” And what an escort she was—beautiful and looking like Liza Minnelli reborn and made better.

 “Thought she might,” Kouha says, taking the seat next to Alibaba.  “What do you think so far?”

“S’nice,” Alibaba admits, though he knows the word doesn’t quite do the club justice.  “Or what I’ve seen so far is.”

“You’ve got a gift for understatement,” Kouha replies, a chuckle implied in his tone.  “Anyway, I’ve arranged for you to talk with some of our staff after the show so you can learn more about what it’s like to work here before making your decision, if that’s something you’d like.”

Kouha says this with a smile that’s just shy of devious, a smile Alibaba’s not quite sure how to respond to.

“I see,” Alibaba says, though he’s not really sure he does.  “And uh, what job exactly are you offering me?”

The club goes dim then, every light in the building moving to focus on the stage.  Kouha’s gaze moves with the light as he says, “You’ll be on stage; I suggest you watch if you want to find out what it is you’ll be doing.”

So Alibaba does watch, and what he sees leaves him breathless. 

What’s being done on stage is completely set apart from what Alibaba knows.  The forms are similar—hell, there’s even a pole toward the back of the stage that the performer makes use of—but this is somehow elevated form of Alibaba’s work.  The person on stage (androgynously dressed at first, though it eventually becomes obvious that it’s a man) isn’t just stripping but dancing, making use of the entire stage to flaunt not just the human body but what it can  _do_.  He executes perfect turns and leaps and lifts, garnished all the while by the other performers who come and go across the stage, helpful and unobtrusive, just moving the show along.  One gently tugs at the tip of each gloved finger, pulling the material slowly but surely down a pale sinuous arm.  Another falls to his hands and knees to allow the dancer to sit on his back while two more slowly removed the performer’s boots from wide-spread legs.

Legs that, incidentally, Alibaba is intimately familiar with. 

“Knew you’d like this show,” Kouha’s words barely register with Alibaba.  How could he pay attention to anything else when Hakuryuu is on stage, his smile indulgent as he allows someone seated at the stage’s edge to carefully pull one stocking down his thigh? 

“The guy in the audience works for the club, just so you know,” Kouha says. “We wouldn’t _really_  let an audience member touch our people.”

“Uh-huh.” Hakuryuu plants his still-covered foot on the back of the man who’d acted as his chair.  He makes a show of slipping the band of his second stocking down, and Alibaba swears that when Hakuryuu looks over his shoulder, expression coy, the look is meant for Alibaba alone.

“I also wouldn’t invite an employee’s significant other here without their permission.”

“Yeah.”

It occurs to Alibaba that, if he really is serious about this offer, it might be prudent to begin listening to Kouha.

And suddenly, he is very,  _very_  serious about this offer.

 ***

“You could’ve told me you know; I’m not exactly in a position to judge.”

Hakuryuu had been warned he’d see Alibaba after his performance, but he had hoped for at least a few minutes to compose himself first. 

“Did you even stay for the finale?” Hakuryuu asks as he eases the door to his dressing room shut behind him.  That he fidgets with the front of his robe has less to do with nerves and more to do with his habitual pretense of modesty.

“Seen it before,” Alibaba replies, his smile teasing.  “Well, most of it.  The thong’s new.”

“Oh shut up.”

“No really, is it bejeweled or is the fabric just really glittery—”

“I will throw my boots at you,” Hakuryuu says, but he’s grinning and on the verge of laughter. 

“Really though,” Alibaba says, once Hakuryuu’s crossed the dressing room to stand beside him by the vanity.  “Why not say anything?  Uh, Kouha mentioned that you knew I was coming, but did you really not want me to?”

“It’s not that,” Hakuryuu replies, leaning back against the counter and a little to the side, just enough for his shoulder to press against Alibaba’s side.  Immediately Alibaba’s arm wraps around his waist, which Hakuryuu takes to be a good sign.  “I just thought it’d sound like a lie, or like I was mocking you if I said it on our first date.  After that, there just didn’t seem a good time to mention it.”

“I would have been a  _bit_  suspicious,” Alibaba concedes. 

“Right,” Hakuryuu says, “So what do you think?  About working here, I mean.”

“I think,” Alibaba says carefully, “That I already signed a contract during the show.”

“That’s—quick,” Hakuryuu replies, trying to sound calm even as excitement builds within him.

“Not really,” Alibaba says with a shrug. “I’ve been thinking about it all week, coming here just sealed the deal for me.”

“I see.  When do you start?”

“In a week,” Alibaba answers, the words trailing off as he watches Hakuryuu make his way toward the back wall where his street clothes hang at the end of a rack bursting with colorful costumes.  His breath hitches when the belt holding Hakuryuu’s robe shut goes slack; when the robe slides down and off smooth sloping shoulders, his mouth goes utterly dry. 

“That’s great, you’ll be here just in time to start practicing for the new routine,” Hakuryuu says, as though he isn’t slipping the last flimsy piece of fabric off himself (and Alibaba notes that it’s sequined, not bejeweled).

Feeling oddly bashful, Alibaba turns away. 

“Uh, I guess so?” He stammers, jittery with an unexpected bout of nerves.  “I suppose I’ll be starting in the background though.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Hakuryuu says, his voice sounding closer than Alibaba expected.  “It’d be nice if we could do a show together soon.”

“To-together?” Alibaba repeats, his mind set to racing as he imagines it, imagines pulling at Hakuryuu’s corset strings and how it would feel to have all eyes on them when Hakuryuu slips the shoes off his feet.  What kind of scene would that be, he wonders?

“I don’t think I’m uh, professional enough to handle that quite yet,” Alibaba says, trying hard to push back his thoughts. 

Lean, bare arms wrap around Alibaba’s shoulders and he sees that in one hand, Hakuryuu holds the keys to his car, hanging from the crook of his finger like a promise.  “Why couldn’t you?” he asks, the heat of his breath ghosting over Alibaba’s ear.

Hakuryuu’s not  _fair._

“Because I would attack you on stage.”

“Really?” Hakuryuu says, his tone wry.  “Because I’m naked with you in my private dressing room and you’re definitely not attacking.”

“Should I be?” Alibaba asks, and sincerely hopes the answer is ‘ _Yes.’_

“I think,” Hakuryuu responds, the hand with his keys in it sliding down Alibaba’s arm, until their palms meet, the keys held between them.  “I think you should wait for me in my car.  Clothes are optional, but if you keep them on we’ve got a better chance of making it to my apartment around the corner.”

“Sex in a bed,” Alibaba says, trying for teasing except the anticipation makes his voice tremble. “That’ll be a first.”

“Huh, it really would be for us,” Hakuryuu murmurs, amusement lacing his tone.  “Well, let’s celebrate our new partnership with a bit of decadent indoor sex, hm?”

“Cars are technically indoors,” Alibaba says with a grin as he takes the keys and turns in Hakuryuu’s arms to get a quick kiss which—

Which turns out to be a very bad idea, because there is nothing quick about their kiss and before long Alibaba has Hakuryuu backed up against the counter, his hands curving over the contours of Hakuryuu’s bare hips.  When they break for air neither of them moves far, their lips just a hair’s breadth away from touching, their eyes the only thing either of them can see for one tense, heated moment.  At this rate, they aren’t likely to even make it to Hakuryuu’s car, never mind his apartment. 

“I guess this is still better than my backseat,” Hakuryuu says with a shaky grin as his hands work between them to open the front of Alibaba’s trousers.  “Condom?”

“Of course,” Alibaba replies, pulling out the packets he keeps in his wallet; the action ends with his pants falling past his hips and to the floor, but they both prefer that to the way his briefs cling stubbornly to his thighs. 

“Just go for it,” Hakuryuu says once he’s rolled the condom down Alibaba’s cock, “I can take it.  I  _want_  to take it.”

And well, when he asks so nicely how can Alibaba do anything but sink into Hakuryuu with one long, steady thrust? 

For a moment they just breathe together, so eager that they’re nearly paralyzed by the feeling.  Then the frenzy hits them, and Alibaba’s every movement becomes a strong surge against Hakuryuu that shakes the counter until all the clutter piled up on it starts to clatter and shimmy toward the edge.  Hakuryuu meets every thrust with the roll of his hips, his fingers curling into Alibaba’s hair as he works to keep Alibaba within kissing distance. 

“See?  Th-this is why I can’t  _work_  with you,” Alibaba breathes out the words; it sounds like he means the exact opposite of what he’s says.  “Every show’ll end with you on your back.”

“Only on my back?” Hakuryuu says, hitching his legs up around Alibaba’s hips so as to better squeeze his lover to him.  “I—I’m sure the audience would, would like some  _variety_.”

“Variety huh?” Alibaba repeats, before his hands slip down to the curve of Hakuryuu’s ass and  _bless_  how fit pole-dancing keeps him, because he lifts Hakuryuu right off the counter and takes a step back so that he’s carrying all of Hakuryuu’s weight.  Hakuryuu can’t say he’s ever been quite so turned on as he is now, his every move up and down Alibaba’s cock being controlled by the strong hands curled against the top of his thighs. 

Definitely not the sort of skill that can be displayed in a car, is Hakuryuu’s last coherent thought before he gives himself over to the need to cling to Alibaba and kiss his face and neck.  What could be more important than that anyway, when Alibaba’s his only anchor and they’re connected so intimately? 

Nonethless he tries to speak when Alibaba shifts just slightly, just enough that Hakuryuu can see them both, reflected in profile in the dressing room mirror.  The roll of their hips against each other, the flex of Alibaba’s thighs, even his own flushed, aroused face is suddenly on display for him and Hakuryuu wants to say  _no_ , wants to make Alibaba turn away because Hakuryuu doesn’t want to know he’s capable of making such a face—blissed out, embarrassing and stupidly in love.  But in the end the only word to make it out of his mouth is Alibaba’s name as he turns away from the mirror, presses an open-mouthed kiss to Alibaba’s temple and comes hard between them.

Curses come back to him next, and Hakuryuu lets out a steady stream of weak swears as Alibaba pushes him up against the nearest wall, his thrusts erratic as he finds his own end pressed tight against Hakuryuu, his whole body flushed and shaking. 

“So,” Alibaba’s says with a shaky breath, once Hakuryuu’s legs finally unwind from his waist.  “Are you  _sure_  you want me performing with you?”

“Y-yes please,” Hakuryuu replies with a breathless laugh.  “By all means, yes.”

“I look forward to working with you, then.”


End file.
